On the way back upstairs, he drifts into the presence of Mahudril and company once again, giving a smile and a nod to Lowri and a much less genuine smile to Smenk and Filge. "Apologies for breaking off our conversation before, but sport beckoned. So, I believe we were discussing the difficulties involved in hiring the deceased? Although if it were more of the traditional sort of necromancy, I suppose unwavering obedience would be a fringe benefit..."
"Oh, Mr. Filge and Mr. Smenk are somewhat new hires-on, and I must admit I can't speak to their origins." Mahuudril smiles brightly. "Personally, I don't think their private lives or unlives are their employer's business in the slightest. I would think you'd feel the same way, Astraden."
Cuetzpalli and Astraden hear a cough. The plump halfling spice merchant he spoke to earlier, Miszen, reaches up a hand towards his ripped outfit, smiling slightly as her fingers crackle with a spell. "Here—do you mind?"
"Oh, thank you Ms. Miszen. That would be great."
The smell of burnt bone hits Cuetzpalli for a moment, but it quickly fades. Miszn's hand crackles green as Cuetzpalli's clothes rapidly reknit.
Carina can read the prince's disoriented face well enough. He's only in a good mood because Eben's a professional when it comes to flattery. But it's telling that he can't afford to show weakness even in his own home. That's... well, it would be a bit sad if it weren't for his hobbies.
She doesn't make a move to participate in the game, instead approaching Lady Kilraven. Well, she at least looks as uncomfortable as I am.
"Lady Kilraven?" The undine smiles. "I don't believe we've been introduced--my name's Carina. Is the party everything you expected it to be?"
Anyone who wishes to play can roll a ranged attack roll—I'll allow you to add your Strength bonus instead of Dexterity, however, since a big part of this challenge is just gaining the distance. The goal is basically just "who can get the highest number" here.
Regardless of the questionable application of divine gifts and the accompanying wardrobe malfunction, Tanith can't help but whistle at Cuetzpalli's impressive toss.
"Me? Um, no, of course not." Astraden looks vaguely baffled but was at least paying enough attention to make the correct response. "Of course, Korush must've covered that in the magazines."
Through meaningful eye contact, she makes clear to Eben and Cuetzpalli that Mahuudril's grasp on Free City gossip is firmer than she's letting on.
The party notices Zalamandra approaching Hemriss, the Prince's supposed daughter. She inclines her head in a brief bow before speaking. "Greetings, Lady Hemriss. I don't think we've had the pleasure of a proper introduction. My name is Zalamandra. This is quite an extravagant party, by my standards. What do you think of it?"
Astraden joins in with a weak toss, if a genuine one, admonishing "Ickyor" to roll farther than he did. "All of these contests seem focused around throwing things, spotting things, or shooting things. Are we to infer that the Prince is looking to hire a new master ranger?" she wonders out loud, jerking her head towards Captain Vulras, and laughs.
Captain Vulras performs a slight bow as his skull lands almost right next to Zeech's—only to be knocked out of the way by B'Kruss's skull. The hobgoblin opens his mouth to laugh openly at Vulras.
He cuts off abruptly as Tanith's skull strikes his so hard both practically explode. Cuetzpalli's bounces into place and lightly taps Jack, coming to rest directly beside it. The Kordians have pulled off the win.
"If the Prince is hiring new rangers, he must be looking for someone who'll turn heads!" the Ominous Fabler screeches.
As the sun sinks behind the horizon and the guests nibble on headless gingerbread men, a necklace with a small ruby-eyed silver skull is bestowed upon Cuetzpalli.
The party notices Zalamandra approaching Hemriss, the Prince's supposed daughter. She inclines her head in a brief bow before speaking. "Greetings, Lady Hemriss. I don't think we've had the pleasure of a proper introduction. My name is Zalamandra. This is quite an extravagant party, by my standards. What do you think of it?"
Hemriss hasn't left Prince Zeech's side since the party began. She gives Zalamandra a strange smile. "Charmed, I'm sure." She nods her head as well, and doesn't answer Zalamandra's question. "It looks like your colleague just landed the winning throw. This must be a very exciting moment for you."
"Lady Kilraven?" The undine smiles. "I don't believe we've been introduced--my name's Carina. Is the party everything you expected it to be?"
Kilraven sighs. She takes a bite out of her gingerbread man, chewing automatically. "Well, I reckon the skeleton play was a new one. The new fool's lasted longer than I figured." She's giving Carina the side-eye. "I'm sorry, I don't remember your name. You were...?"
The peal of an unseen gong sounds the call for dinner. The feast is ready at last! With a merry cry, the Fabler leads the guests back into the palace and thence to the Great Banqueting Hall. The massive, cylindrical chamber rises through the heart of Zeech's Palace. A tremendous round table of polished mahogany dominates the room, the walls of which are decked with portraits and landscapes of great quality. A large number of them feature Zeech himself, although a pale, platinum-haired woman dominates one prominently placed portrait near Zeech's place at the table.
A vast stained glass dome depicting what appear to be angels at play arches gracefully above, its perimeter decorated by a ring of severed heads mounted on iron spikes some twenty feet above the polished marble floor.
"Be seated, my guests," Prince Zeech declares, as he makes his way to his seat beneath the portrait of the pale woman.
As he speaks, a chorus of cheers echoes from above in strange and sonorous voices. The severed heads are speaking.
"Aha!"
"Well said!"
"Well-spoken is the Prince!"
"Benevolent and courteous both!"
Zeech smiles thinly, taking his seat. "They're a recent addition. Remarkable, no?" He glances down at the name cards and rolls his eyes, beckoning to Eben and Farrukh. "Come, MacTeague, Al'Khattel, you may sit at my side. I don't believe you've met Hemriss yet."
Soon, everyone at the table is seated, and servants bustle by with cutlery and dishes. Most of the attendants have been dismissed at this point, but Smenk, Lowri and Korush linger.
One chair—the one directly opposite Zeech—remains curiously vacant. On the name card reads the name, Lashonna.
Zeech's gaze lingers transparently on the empty seat across from him. The members of Spiny's Six watch their places are set before them—including no fewer than ten pieces of silverware. How to use each piece is anyone's guess.
Cuetzpalli looks at all the varied cutlery in confusion before daintily picking up his food and eating it by hand as neatly as he can. Anything particularly hot or juicy he stabs with a knife and uses the blade to bring food to his mouth.
Eben conceals his distaste at the supposedly-magnificent decor of the dining room being actually quite horrific, and takes his seat when bidden. "No, I haven't had the pleasure, an honor to meet you, Lady Hemriss," he says, shooting a dimpled smile across the table to the prince's left-hand side.
Much like the prince, Eben is disappointed that Lashonna is a no-show, though he conceals it much better than Zeech's clear irritation. The entire reason we were willing to put up with this little show of horrors! Well, hopefully the food continues to be good, at least...
That theory is one he'd like to put to the test, but he pauses. Eben considers himself to be well-versed in the art of being savoir-fairish, but the table setting here defies even his most elaborate expectations. You start on the outside and work your way in, right? he 'thinks' to Forzamele, but alas, a sentient bowstring, even one made from a lillend's hair, isn't exactly an expert on high etiquette either. He spends a moment debating if, since there's no Lashonna there and the whole evening is pointless, he should just 'pull a Cuetz', so to speak, and hell with courtly manners. But ultimately, that route is just outside Eben's most insane comfort zone (though instead of burying his head in his fine linen napkin at Cuetpalli's display, he instead finds himself supressing a smile.) So instead he takes the time-honored gambit of pausing before tucking in, using conversation a s a tactic to delay his own eating so he can just follow along what the other diners are doing. Since he's seated next to Zeech, he leans in, making table conversation that anyone in the room can hear and comment on, if they like. "Your highness, my friends and I had the opportunity to see your Great Project under construction the other day. Really, it's a fascinating looking structure, even unfinished. Where did you get the idea for it?" he asks, as his hand hovers over a possible-starting fork.
After studying the assorted cutlery for a long minute and finding no discernable difference, Tanith leans over to Carina to see she’s figured it out.
”Which one do I start with?”
"Oh, my name's Carina, milady." She offers Lady Kilraven a little curtsy.
---------------------
Once the party is seated at the table, Carina takes in the many pieces of silverware.
Farrukh would probably rather not be privy to every thought that passes Zeech's head, but alas he is cursed with an astounding knowledge of social cues and an equally astounding lack of any way to form the words to make use of them.
Instead he focuses on eating his food. He doesn't see why multiple pieces of silverware are needed and just sticks with one set for the whole meal.
"Hemriss? No, don't think we've met. How you doing?"
Most of the attendants have been dismissed at this point, but Smenk, Lowri and Korush linger.
Astraden leans over to Montague, smiling and getting a little too close with her teeth (and vargouille ears). "Nice to see you again, by the way. Diamond Lake is just a little more boring without your 'quirkiness' to liven up the place. Any plans on moving back?"
"I'm also pretty curious - it's such an unusual shape!" Astraden interjects in response to Eben, while Zeech finishes chewing.
Diplomacy to copy his undoubtedly flawless etiquette (vs. elite and wealthy): 1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 4 + 2 = 13
"Well, it's good to meet you, Ms. Viera." Kilraven nods tersely. "So, what did you two do to get an invite alongside such illustrious personalities as Merchantmaster Mahuudril and Lady Hemriss?"
Astraden leans over to Montague, smiling and getting a little too close with her teeth (and vargouille ears). "Nice to see you again, by the way. Diamond Lake is just a little more boring without your 'quirkiness' to liven up the place. Any plans on moving back?"
"Oh, to that horrid town! Not on your life!" Marat laughs, clapping Astraden on the shoulder. "You're kidding, right? Hot dog! That place is like an abscess." Unfortunately, he's too distracted by Astraden to give her a chance to copy his table manners.
All there is on the table right now are simple bowls of soup, crackers, and fine breads and cheeses—most guests ignore that food, Eben notices, and he and Carina can guess that it's mainly for show. Just food for the sake of food.
Since he's seated next to Zeech, he leans in, making table conversation that anyone in the room can hear and comment on, if they like. "Your highness, my friends and I had the opportunity to see your Great Project under construction the other day. Really, it's a fascinating looking structure, even unfinished. Where did you get the idea for it?" he asks, as his hand hovers over a possible-starting fork.
Prince Zeech glances at Eben and frowns. Hemriss seems to stiffen slightly, especially as Astraden joins in.
"Yes, I'd quite wondered about that as well!" Toris pipes up. "It seems like a good number of people were displaced, actually. What's it for?"
Zeech's eyes flash to the gnome. Prince Toris seems to flinch slightly as he meets Prince Zeech's gaze.
"It's a monument to Alhaster's glory," the Ominous Fabler supplies after a pause. "It shall be a day of joy when it's complete! Maybe we'll throw a gnome off to celebrate, as is tradition!"
Several of the guests laugh. Toris nervously laughs, too. Prince Zeech smiles and turns back to Eben. "As my fool said, it's not finished yet. It came to me in dreams, visions from the Scourge. But it is something, isn't it? Why, I imagine you've nev—"
All conversation at the table stops. Everyone turns, and for a moment, Cuetzpalli thinks they're looking at him—he's just raised a piece of soup-dipped bread to his mouth.
Then a footman with two foot-length arms steps into the doorway. "With apologies for her lateness," he declares, "the final guest has arrived!" He bows deep and steps out of the way, making way for Lashonna.
'Lashonna'. The name rustles through the banquet hall like a breeze on everyone's lips. The woman is dazzlingly beautiful, with alabaster skin and long platinum hair set back with a tiara of dark diamonds. Everyone in the room feels her gaze settling upon them, as if she can look everywhere at once. Prince Zeech in particular has gone stiff.
Lashonna gives Prince Zeech a slight nod, but says nothing as she gracefully takes her seat at the opposite end of the table from him.
Astraden bites her lip, physically preventing herself from defending Diamond Lake in specific and abscesses in general. "Haha, yes how delightful. Did you come to Alhaster straight after you left?"
"Maybe we'll throw a gnome off to celebrate, as is tradition!"
"Oh, is that why he became a jester? Really, this poor funnyman needs help, not an elaborate suicide by military dictator . . ." Astraden murmurs, perhaps only loud enough for Montague to hear.
She trails off as Lashonna makes her entrance, craning her neck to the left to watch her and then realizing where the fancy lady is going to sit and whipping her head around while simultaneously moving her chair to allow her space. She nonchalantly spears a cracker on an olive fork. "Nice to meet you, your ladyship. I'm Astraden Limhaare of Spiny's Six. We have something we'd like to discuss with you." She takes a bite of the cracker.
Cuetzpalli pauses with the piece of bread floating in front of his mouth, to take in the beauty of this new creature. By the time he snaps out of it, he's managed to drip a fair amount of the soup on to his doublet. Whoops!
Astraden bites her lip, physically preventing herself from defending Diamond Lake in specific and abscesses in general. "Haha, yes how delightful. Did you come to Alhaster straight after you left?"
Mr. Marat shrugs. "Oh, well, I traveled the world a little. Really had to 'find myself', you know—not to mention a few curiosities to peddle around, eh?" He winks and nudges Astraden. "Got to keep the gears running, after all! I'm sure a fellow adventurer can relate to that."
Lashonna raises an eyebrow at Astraden's remark. "Oh, really? Spiny's Six, you say?" Her hand glides across the table and taps one of Astraden's smaller forks meaningfully. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Zeech hasn't been able to stop telling me of your remarkable exploits."
Zeech stands, and silence falls upon the banquet hall. "My dear friends," he begins, and as he does, the decapitated heads above echo the word 'friends' in a ghoulish tone, "I bid you enjoy this feast. Eat and drink your fill in my humble abode."
He claps his hands once. An instant later, the great doors to the kitchen swing open and a trio of manticores enter to the ghoulish hoorahs of the heads. Each manticore carries great platters on its wingless back, and a host of distorted servants trail behind them, waiting to begin serving food.
Each guest is given a small covered silver goblet. The Ominous Fabler's voice rings out over the hall, telling the tale of a proud Alhaster tradition. One of the founders of Alhaster was a desperate pilgrim who washed up on the harbor shore, not having eaten in weeks. He fell upon the moors to die, but as he did, he saw...
Toris is the first to peek inside the goblet. The gnome blanches.
"... a worm," the Fabler says, grinning ear-to-ear, "a gift from the gods that he should live. And so... he devoured it."
Inside the silver goblet writhes a fat, greasy worm, its glistening flesh a nasty shade of green.
"'Dig in'," the Ominous Fabler declares grandly, and starts gnawing on his mummified raven.
Cuetzpalli shudders. Something tells me I'm not going to like this story very much... He eyes the worm dubiously, not really willing to eat it. Not because it's a grub, just because of their past experiences with worms.
Astraden laughs. "Haha yes how delightful. How did you manage to survive the journey, though? They say the roads are dangerous these days."
Astraden hesitantly takes the indicated piece of silverware. "Yeah, we do have some pretty great stories to tell. One of them is about a man who traveled north from distant Kuluth-Mar, seeking the sage wisdom of a popular artist. The friend of this man sent a group of adventurers to find out what happened to him. Might you have heard of this story?"
She uses the fork to stab her worm repeatedly, waiting for others to start eating before trying it herself. "At least it's fresh!" she remarks to Montague.
Astraden laughs. "Haha yes how delightful. How did you manage to survive the journey, though? They say the roads are dangerous these days."
Astraden hesitantly takes the indicated piece of silverware. "Yeah, we do have some pretty great stories to tell. One of them is about a man who traveled north from distant Kuluth-Mar, seeking the sage wisdom of a popular artist. The friend of this man sent a group of adventurers to find out what happened to him. Might you have heard of this story?"
She uses the fork to stab her worm repeatedly, waiting for others to start eating before trying it herself. "At least it's fresh!" she remarks to Montague.
Montague Marat laughs as well. "Yes, the roads are quite dangerous these days—all kinds of unsavory characters, all kinds of riffraff. But I can take care of myself, of course! Have done for years!"
Lashonna raises an eyebrow at Astraden's 'story'. "That... is a tale. 'Kuluth-Mar', you say?" She nods slightly, delicately (and without a trace of distaste) spearing the worm through the head and eating it in one bite. "If I'm being honest, I don't know that your tale casts so long a shadow as you might think. At least, I've never heard of it—though perhaps one of the other adventurers in here might have. The strangest stories have a way of spreading around farther than they were ever expected to."
She places the slightest emphasis on 'long a shadow', and nods her head imperceptibly—but warningly—towards Mahuudril as she speaks of "other adventurers". I know what you're talking about, but this is not the right company to discuss it.
Farrukh surreptitiously pushes his goblet aside. If anyone calls him on it, he simply says "Sorry, I'm allergic to worms."
In spite of the topic clearly being one the Prince isn't overly interested in discussing, Eben prepares himself to continue further on the topic (Mental note, he's easily distracted from annoyance by talking about killing gnomes, I can go with that...) but the long-overdue appearance of Lashonna puts a halt to that topic of discourse for the moment. In fact, he's relieved enough that the entire reason for coming to this ridiculous affair isn't pulling a no-show that the topic of the Great Project goes out of his head completely. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Lashonna. I was just thinking how regrettable it would be to have an empty seat. Isn't seventeen an unlucky number at the table? Well, I'm sure in some lost civilization or other it is..."
As the first 'course' comes around, and the Fabler's story unfolds, Eben peeks inside his goblet shortly after Toris does and flinches, a bit. Perhaps understandable as he's one of the few at the table who has experienced a near-turning at the mouths of Kyuss worms. Although I did willingly put one inside my head, too, and that wasn't so bad... Still, he hesitates by chattering away a bit until someone else (preferably the Prince or Hemriss) willingly ingest a worm before following suit. "What a fascinating story that is. And really, it's quite amazing that Alhasterites have stuck to that tradition so literally. I mean, most cultures would probably go the symbolic route and have a worm-shaped confection or sweetmeat in lieu of the actual thing, but holding so tightly to one's actual roots, so to speak, is quite an admirable trait in today's world, that is so quick to forget the past..." Once he feels safe enough to do so (at the least, after Lashonna eats hers) he spears a worm, and sandwiches it between two crackers before popping the whole thing in his mouth and chewing very, very thoroughly.
He picks up on Lashonna's subtle message and does not continue the topic Astraden began, but rather grins impishly and pushes Farrukh's goblet back in front of him. "That allergy is terrible, I agree, so it's fortunate that you have a top notch cleric sitting across the table who can make sure you're fine in event of a reaction!"
Farrukh surreptitiously pushes his goblet aside. If anyone calls him on it, he simply says "Sorry, I'm allergic to worms."
Prince Zeech's eyes narrow slightly. "Are you really? What a... specific ailment."
Lashonna smiles patiently as Eben greets her—though he finds himself prattling a little, his well-honed charisma and timing manage to salvage it. "Well, as they say, one is the loneliest number of all, so I'm happy to have such fine company on this special day."
Confident that worms are not the kill-you-and-turn-you-into-zombies type, he plucks his from its dish and pops it into his mouth. At least a little anxious about the experience, he chews thoroughly before swallowing and washing the meal down with a draw of the spirits presented to him. ”That’s… pretty good”, he says after a long moment of reflection.
"Well, it's good to meet you, Ms. Viera." Kilraven nods tersely. "So, what did you two do to get an invite alongside such illustrious personalities as Merchantmaster Mahuudril and Lady Hemriss?"
"We made a good impression on the right people, I guess." Carina gives a little, uncertain shrug.
"I'll admit, I wasn't, well, really prepared for the Prince's entertainment." She adds, looking a little uncomfortable.
-----------------
Carina can't help but feel some pity for the manticores. ...well, I suppose it's fortunate the Prince doesn't limit his cruelty to innocent animals. Damnation with faint praise, indeed.
When she sees Tanith eat the worm served to him, Carina follows suit, stabbing the worm with the proper fork and chewing thoroughly.
Hey, if Tanith's doing it... and besides, there's at least five different knives here. I can cut it out if I need to.
She offers no comment on the dish. I think it's safe to say that once this whole business with Lashonna is resolved--good job, Eben--we're going to come back and make this man regret the day he was ever born.
Kilraven nods shallowly. "Yes, the Prince spares no expense. Your colleagues did well in the contests, though."
Kilraven nods shallowly. "Yes, the Prince spares no expense. Your colleagues did well in the contests, though."
Carina smiles slightly. "That's kind of you to say, milady."
"But..." Her smile fades, turning into a worried frown. "...I get the impression that not everyone appreciated them."
She takes note of Lady Kilraven, trying to read her expression.
How does she feel about all this?
"That allergy is terrible, I agree, so it's fortunate that you have a top notch cleric sitting across the table who can make sure you're fine in event of a reaction!"
Farrukh gives Eben a look of betrayal.
"What a...great point." he says, before reluctantly digging in.
It's not even that Farrukh is a particularly picky eater; he's eaten bugs and worms before to survive. He's just surprised nobody else even TRIED to avoid eating a worm served by someone the party knows to have connections to the Age of Worms.
"You know, I was the same way for a long time. I was the only one I could rely upon to take care of myself and survive out there. It was fun, for a time!"
Astraden hooks her hand into a thumbs-up, briefly, under the table between herself and Lashonna so that only the artist can see it. "You've missed the bird killing, I'm afraid. But it's great that you made it to the first course!"
She then brings the thoroughly punctured, oozing worm to her metal teeth and bites down, ripping off its head and craning her neck backwards slightly as she does so, like a bird swallowing water or a child swallowing an unwanted vegetable. After realizing she's accidentally sprayed a little bit of worm juice on the tablecloth in front of Montague, she apologizes and carefully places the entire remaining worm into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. She seems only to come out of this reverie when Farrukh begins to complain about allergies.
"I do appreciate the praise, Eben, but I'm not sure I'm any better equipped to help Farrukh than Carina. She's the top-notch chirurgeon - I'm just a conduit!"
Carina blinks a couple of times and tries not to blush.
APPRECIATION! AT LAST!
Eben finishes chewing his worm and swallows happily. It tasted alright to begin with, but shaming Farrukh into eating one too really made it taste better. "Your highness, if I may ask a question? I am curious about the intended aesthetic of your household servants. It's nice to see people who might otherwise be rejected by society given positions as lavish as serving royalty. Is their hire just for the duration of the Banquet, to fit a theme, or do you staff those with... different abilities regularly?"
Zalamandra smiles at Hemriss as she sits down. "A pleasure to be able to continue our conversation. I'm afraid I'm not up to date on the royalty of Redhand - what do you occupy your days with, if I may ask?" She carefully considers her worm before eating, taking cues from Hemriss and Shag alternately.
She also makes sure to help in the buttering-up department, smiling big as she finishes the first course. "Please deliver my appreciation to your cook, Prince Zeech. A divine application of spices. How historically-minded of you to respect this tradition!"
She also turns to Shag at one point during the meal. "I must remember to compliment you on your choice of attire for tonight. Did you design the outfit yourself?"
Kilraven nods shallowly. "Yes, the Prince spares no expense. Your colleagues did well in the contests, though."Carina smiles slightly. "That's kind of you to say, milady."
"But..." Her smile fades, turning into a worried frown. "...I get the impression that not everyone appreciated them."
She takes note of Lady Kilraven, trying to read her expression.
How does she feel about all this?
Kilraven raises an eyebrow. She leans to the side slightly, towards Carina. "Speakin' honestly, Lady Viera," she says under her breath, "let's just say I wouldn't... be here if it were up to me. As Captain of the West Border Watch, I'm always invited to these events. It's just a big investment of my time. I'm guessing you feel the same way."
Overall, she seems rather bored and tired, though she's putting on a good show as the mildly rustic (but still safely aristocratic) noblewoman.
Montague Marat is distinctly put off at the mess Astraden makes, but laughs it off, clearly charmed by her distinctive attitude.
"A chirurgeon?" Miszen leans in, her expression curious. "Is that some kind of healer?"
Zalamandra smiles at Hemriss as she sits down. "A pleasure to be able to continue our conversation. I'm afraid I'm not up to date on the royalty of Redhand - what do you occupy your days with, if I may ask?" She carefully considers her worm before eating, taking cues from Hemriss and Shag alternately.
Hemriss sniffs disdainfully. "Who said I was royalty?"
An uncomfortable silence falls around Zalamandra at this. Shag clears his throat. "But of course, my lady. They don't tailor clothes for quaggoths in this town, nor any I've been to. Everything I carry was made by others of my kind, and... well, I am the only quaggoth I've seen in years."
"Your highness, if I may ask a question? I am curious about the intended aesthetic of your household servants. It's nice to see people who might otherwise be rejected by society given positions as lavish as serving royalty. Is their hire just for the duration of the Banquet, to fit a theme, or do you staff those with... different abilities regularly?"
Prince Zeech considered the question a moment, and when he answers, he speaks carefully, thoughtfully. "Eben, imagine that the world is a clock. Millions of little cogs spinning away, each made to fit a certain place. What do you suppose happens if one cog is made not to fit?" After barely a breath, he answers his own question, sweeping his arm wide as though sweeping away something cluttering his table setting. "Cast aside. Fft. Disposed of. Crushed within the machinery. Is that the fault of the cog, or the clock?"
"Is it indeed?" echo the heads above. "Whose fault indeed!"
As the conversations go on, the second course is delivered strapped to the back of a single manticore—an enormous pie on a silver dish of great size. Pastry beaks of birds of birds cover the pie.
The conversation quiets as the crust is opened, and twenty-four blackbirds spill out from the steaming interior, flying around the room in terror. As the blackbirds chirp and shriek, the servants follow up with huge tureens of vegetables, along with plentiful supplies of a spiced white wine they call 'Redhand Resinwint'.
Appreciating the fact that the course 1) Didn’t feature live worms and 2) Didn’t involve unnecessary cruelty, Tanith enjoys the pastry and vegetables with noisy gusto. The big man passively participates in the dinner conversation going on around him until Prince Zeech makes his speech about empowering the disenfranchised. He finds the despot’s motivation strangely out of character in contrast to his previous actions.
Eben does his best not to be too startled by the birds escaping from the pie, though he does make a point of covering the mouth of his wine glass with his hand in case accidents happen. At least we're not being asked to skewer these with a crossbow... he thinks as he takes a heap of steaming vegetables and slice of pie onto his plate and delays a moment waiting for someone who knows better than him to pick up a bird pie fork. To cover his pause, he continues the conversation with Zeech. "I would put the blame on the clockmaker, highness. The clock only does what it has been made for and the cogs can only try and fit or be crushed. It's the one who crafted the mechanisms to begin with that never gave a thought to the pieces he had to work with." Judging the danger passed, he removes his hand and takes a sip of his- quite excellent- wine. "So are you a clockmaker trying to find a new way of telling time, then?"
Cuetzpalli is clearly getting bored with the prolonged social interactions. He begins to push food around his plate into childish desgins, waiting for things to wrap up.
Carina nods in agreement. "Neither would I, to be honest. I'm more comfortable employing my medical talents to help others." She replies, her tone quiet. "Suffice to say, it... would have been a bad idea for us to turn down the Prince's invitation." She looks rather uncomfortable as the second course starts.
Carina recognizes the illusionary blackbirds as they erupt from the pie. She takes a helping of pie and vegetables for herself and partakes of the so-called 'Redhand Resinwint'.
Will this even do anything for me? I mean, I've put so much weird s%~$ into my body by now that I can't even get buzzed off of normal ale.
Eben does his best not to be too startled by the birds escaping from the pie, though he does make a point of covering the mouth of his wine glass with his hand in case accidents happen. At least we're not being asked to skewer these with a crossbow... he thinks as he takes a heap of steaming vegetables and slice of pie onto his plate and delays a moment waiting for someone who knows better than him to pick up a bird pie fork. To cover his pause, he continues the conversation with Zeech. "I would put the blame on the clockmaker, highness. The clock only does what it has been made for and the cogs can only try and fit or be crushed. It's the one who crafted the mechanisms to begin with that never gave a thought to the pieces he had to work with." Judging the danger passed, he removes his hand and takes a sip of his- quite excellent- wine. "So are you a clockmaker trying to find a new way of telling time, then?"
Prince Zeech is silent for a moment. Slowly, he raises his fork and crunches down on his vegetables. "There is only the one clock, Eben, and it crushes all of us in its time. You can only re-tune the clock to crush different cogs. A new way of telling time, I suppose." He gestures across the table to Kilraven. "Captain Kilraven, do remind me—what exactly did the Empire of Iuz do to your family?"
An awkward air drifts over the table. Kilraven fills her goblet calmly. "Gristmill," she says. "My parents were feeding your rebels from their fields."
"And your wrist was broken as you escaped from your shackles. It never healed right, did it?" The Prince's tone is dispassionate, as if recalling the kind of wood used to construct a desk.
"No, it seems it didn't, Your Highness."
He nods. "And you hadn't done anything. Your brothers, your sister... none of them?"
"To my knowledge, our parents did not involve us, no." She doesn't seem cross, nor sad—more resigned and practiced. This isn't the first time the Prince has asked his Captain to help him make a point in this way.
Prince Zeech turns back to Eben, his expression still very calm—at least as far as can be easily discerned. "Sickening, isn't it, to be marked from birth for death, simply for your parentage? Life isn't fair. It will never be fair. There will always be the pathetic struggles of wailing orphans and dying beggars. There is no clockmaker to punish, and there will always be crushed cogs. But you can endeavor to crush those who deserve it."
The silence lasts longer, now, after that grim declaration—unless one of Spiny's Six opts to break it.
...hmm. Pretty good. But, honestly, not really feeling it yet. Maybe I need some more--it'll at least help me forget how much of an insecure, petty tyrant Zeech is.